


The Weight of Words

by SuburbanSun



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: (sorta) - Freeform, Academy Era, Canon Compliant, Epistolary, F/M, Light Angst, Maveth Era, Missing Scene, Post-Event Horizon, Post-Space Speculation, Romantic Fluff, Season 2 Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-18 16:21:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13685313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuburbanSun/pseuds/SuburbanSun
Summary: Love notes come in many different forms, and the written word spans space and time.





	The Weight of Words

**Author's Note:**

  * For [accio-the-force (XOLove47)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/XOLove47/gifts).



> Happy Valentine's Day to accio-the-force! It's been a pleasure being your secret valentine.
> 
> Big thanks to bigfunnywords for betaing!

Jemma prided herself on her superior note-taking skills. At university, students many years her senior had sidled up to her at the library and asked to borrow her notes (she’d allowed the nicer ones to do so. The rude or entitled ones, of course, were on their own). She had an elaborate system of color-coding and page-flagging, and when she felt down or anxious, she’d sometimes flip through a full notebook, allowing its careful orderliness to center her once again.

Which is why it was so unusual that 40 minutes into Professor Vaughn’s lecture, she hadn’t written down a single word. Instead, she’d spent the entire class subtly watching Leopold Fitz out of the corner of her eye.

Only a few weeks had passed since he’d apparently gotten over his intense hatred and spoken to her after class one day. In the interim, they’d become-- well, friendly, at least, if not friends _exactly_. They’d studied together in the library, and collaborated on two particularly fascinating projects in the lab.

But now she wanted to ask him to spend time with her socially, and she couldn’t quite work up the nerve.

At a lull in Professor Vaughn’s speech, she bit her lip and flipped her notebook to a fresh sheet.

 _Fitz--_ she scrawled on the page in neat ink. _There’s a guest lecturer program run by the Comms division, and while that’s not our--_

She wrinkled her nose at her words-- of course he knew they weren’t in the Comms division-- and flipped to a new page.

_Fitz-- Want to go to the Comms guest lecture this Sunday? With me, of course. I mean--_

Letting her pen drift in a ragged line, she huffed at her attempt. Fitz glanced over at the sound, his brow furrowed, and she just shook her head and turned to another new page.

_Fitz-- Join me for the Comms guest lecture this Sunday? Perhaps dinner at Hal’s Diner after? My treat._

Before she could second-guess herself, she tilted her notebook in Fitz’s direction and nudged his ankle with her toe. He glanced at her and followed her gaze down to the notebook. Jemma bit her lip, fighting a flutter of nerves in her stomach, though she wasn’t entirely sure why. After an endless pause, he pulled the notebook closer to him and began to write underneath her message, his expression unreadable. When he rotated the pad back in her direction, she suppressed a chuckle.

_Sure. Cheese fries?_

She looked up at him, and he shrugged hopefully.

 _Ok,_ she wrote, then flipped to a fresh page and began to actually take notes on what Professor Vaughn was saying, relieved to find she could now focus all her attention on her studies. Well, most of her attention. Part of it was focused on the feeling of relief that Fitz was willing to spend more time with her.

It was quite a strange feeling, wasn’t it? Never wanting to be without someone.

 

 

\\\\\

 

 

Jemma stood at the kitchen sink on the base, scrubbing at the mug in her hand a little harder than necessary. Predictably, uncontrollably, her thoughts drifted to Fitz.

She hated the stony silence between them of late, hated the way Agent Mackenzie had seemed to make inroads where she had failed to, and hated that she couldn’t do a thing about any of it. She couldn’t even bring him a cup of tea without feeling like an interloper in their own lab.

She sighed and set the now-spotless mug down in the sink. She’d always thought tea made the best peace offering, and all she wanted to do was make peace with her best friend.

With that in mind, she paid careful attention to what time he returned to the lab that day after lunch. Fitz was a creature of habit; that much she could rely on. So the next day, she slipped into the kitchen to prepare a cup just the way he liked it, then placed it carefully on the corner of his desk moments before she knew he’d appear. Her stomach tight, she made up a reason to stay away from the lab for the afternoon-- after all, the supplies in the med bay _did_ need restocking.

When she made her way back to the lab before dinner, he wasn’t there anymore. But the mug sat in a slightly different spot on his desk, empty save for the dregs. She let a tiny smile of triumph grace her face.

She continued this pattern over the next few days, making a different excuse to stay out of Fitz’s way after she dropped off his tea.

Later that week, she carried the cup to his desk skillfully-- Jemma prided herself on never spilling a drop-- and as she grew closer, she noticed a folded up sheet of paper on the corner where she always left the mug, marked with a hurried _J._

Her heart in her throat, she set down the tea and unfolded the paper.

 _Thanks for the tea, Jemma,_ it read, each letter carefully printed, but as distinct as ever. She’d still know Fitz’s handwriting anywhere. _It’s just the way I like it._

She allowed herself a moment to take in the message, to let out a shaky exhale and imagine him sitting at the desk to write it, the tip of his tongue poking out from between his teeth as he concentrated. Then she picked up a pen from his desk and wrote underneath his words, _You’re quite welcome. I remember you always used to say good tea helps you focus in the afternoons._

She set the paper back down alongside the cup of tea and padded out of the lab before she could crumple up her words or throw them in the trash. They were such a far cry from the feelings she wished she could express.

But then, she wasn’t entirely sure how to put those feelings into words.

When she returned to the lab before dinner, after Fitz had retreated to the garage with Mack, she was surprised to find a still-warm mug of tea resting on her desk just beside her keyboard. She picked it up and took a sip-- it was exactly as she liked it, of course, though she realized as she sipped that she hadn’t expected anything less.

A small piece of cardstock was tented next to where the tea had been, and she picked it up to read.

_I haven’t forgotten, either. -F_

She felt warmed through, and it wasn’t just because of the tea.

 

 

\\\\\

 

 

Under a dusky blue sky, Jemma perched on a rock, letting the toe of one foot drift back and forth in the sand. She stretched out her leg, her foot moving in a wide arc, drawing fingerprint whorls in the dust. A few grains took off in the wind.

Resisting the urge to pull out her phone and further drain the battery, she pictured his face, and grazed the toe of her boot against the sand to form a faint _F._ Then, beside it, a tiny heart. Despite being anatomically incorrect and a bit childish, one corner of her mouth quirked up at the sight, just a bit, before she brushed away the entire image with the sole of her boot and stood up.

She had to keep moving.

 

 

\\\\\

 

 

Jemma couldn’t fight the smile on her face as she strapped herself into her seat on the plane. She also couldn’t help letting her gaze drift over to Fitz, buckling himself up beside her. She _also_ couldn’t help allowing her thoughts to float back to the events of an hour prior, before they’d been interrupted by a text message from Mack and a directive to be outside in the hallway in 10 minutes, fully dressed, no questions asked.

Mack was a man of his word.

Once they were settled, Jemma cleared her throat. “Well, I’d say that was a fairly successful mission. Wouldn’t you, Fitz?”

When she looked over at him, she could see a bright blush creeping up his neck. Mack, who was strapped into the jump seat across from them, just sighed and shook his head.

“Coulson wants a debrief as soon as we land,” he said. “He’s going to want intel on everything you saw in that club before we can all--” He coughed. “--get to bed.”

“Of course,” Jemma answered, her attention still on Fitz. He had a tight grip on the straps at his shoulders, and his lips were pursed like he was trying not to yawn. Or, perhaps, smile. Sparing another glance at Mack, Jemma pulled her phone out of her jacket pocket and tapped out a text.

> [Jemma Simmons]: Way to act natural.

Fitz frowned when his phone buzzed, but dutifully pulled it out of his own pocket and read the text. His frown deepened.

> [Leo Fitz]: Well, what did you expect me to do? There’s no universe in which Mack doesn’t know exactly what just happened.

Jemma rolled her eyes at his response, then typed out one of her own. 

> [Jemma Simmons]: Oh? What just happened?

Fitz breathed out through his nose, then shot her a glare. 

> [Leo Fitz]: You know what I mean.
> 
> [Jemma Simmons]: Do I?
> 
> [Leo Fitz]: Stop teasing, Jemma.
> 
> [Jemma Simmons]: I’m not sure I understand.

She bit the inside of her lip to keep from laughing at his visible frustration as he rapidly tapped at his screen.

> [Leo Fitz]: You know exactly what I’m referring to. The event horizon.
> 
> [Jemma Simmons]: Oh, yes, of course! My mistake.

He scoffed, and she chuckled, before turning her focus back to her phone.

> [Jemma Simmons]: But you see, light emitted from inside an event horizon can never reach the outside observer.
> 
> [Jemma Simmons]: Whatever Mack may or may not suspect, that moment was ours alone.
> 
> [Jemma Simmons]: It will always be ours.

She swiped her thumb over the words she’d just typed, a bit proud of herself. Fitz often surprised her with his way with words, especially lately. But sometimes, she could be the romantic one.

> [Jemma Simmons]: Anyway, meet you in your bunk as soon as the debrief is over?
> 
> [Leo Fitz]: Absolutely.

 

 

\\\\\

 

 

Jemma awoke with a start. The last few months-- years, really-- had taken their toll on her ability to fall into a deep sleep, and now she found herself being startled awake by sounds or movements that were previously imperceptible.

As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she realized that she was alone in their makeshift nest of blankets. She pushed them aside and stood, her bare feet cold against the concrete floor of the Lighthouse. She knew he wouldn’t have gone far.

She padded out of the small, empty room they’d claimed (the others had been more than willing to grant them a modicum of privacy) and out into the main hall, careful not to wake anyone else. They all needed the rest so badly.

From a far corner of the space, partially obscured by a segment of the ventilation system, she spotted a light. As she tiptoed closer, she could see Fitz sitting with his back to a pillar, the glow of a camp lantern casting shadows across his face.

“Couldn’t sleep?” She dropped down to sit beside him, leaning against the pillar and tucking her legs underneath her. He shook his head, then shifted so he could press a kiss to her shoulder.

“Didn’t mean to worry you.”

She just hummed in reply. She wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to _stop_ worrying about Fitz.

“The others?” he asked.

“Everyone seems to be asleep, thankfully. They’ll need as many hours as they can get.” Jemma sighed. “We’ve all got a big day tomorrow, what with sorting out how to save the world, and all that.”

Fitz chuckled, then tipped his head back to rest against the wall. Jemma noticed a small notebook on his other side, a pencil resting on top, and gestured toward them.

“Is that what you’ve been up working on? A plan?”

He followed her gaze, but didn’t respond right away. He touched the cover of the notebook with just the tips of his fingers and cleared his throat. “Um. No, not exactly.”

She yawned, and let her head rest against his shoulder. “Not exactly?”

He hesitated for a moment, then picked up the notebook and held it out for her to take. “Been working on my wedding vows, actually.”

Jemma felt warmth bloom in her chest as she gently took the notebook from him. “Oh, really?”

“Erm, yeah. I know we haven’t… discussed a plan, or picked a day, or anything, but I... I wanted to be ready.” A tinge of nerves colored his voice. “You can read ‘em. If you want to.”

The thought of it was a bit overwhelming, knowing that he’d written down his innermost feelings about her, about _them_ , and that she was holding them in her hand-- that simply turning the page of a notebook would allow her to read his very heart. She took a deep breath, then nuzzled her face into the crook of his neck, kissing him just above his collar before sitting up straight. She opened the notebook, but to the very back, and ripped out the last several blank pages. He looked confused, but she couldn’t hold back a smile.

“How’s tomorrow for you?”

Fitz’s eyebrows shot up. “Tomorrow? For…”

She nodded emphatically. “For our wedding. Let’s pick a day. Let’s pick tomorrow. If that’s alright with you, of course.”

“But-- we haven’t even had time to shower since getting back to Earth. Don’t you want-- I don’t know, a pretty dress, and flowers, and your parents to be there, and--”

“Of course I want all that, Fitz.” She grasped one of his hands in both of hers. “But more importantly, I want to be married to you, as soon as I possibly can. We can do the big party later-- assuming we find a way to avoid the complete destruction of the planet, in which case we’ll have even more reasons to celebrate.” She brought his hand up and kissed it. “What do you think?”

His mouth hung open, and even in the dim light, she could read the incalculable fondness in his gaze. He let out a shaky breath and nodded.

“I think… I think we’re getting married tomorrow.”

She beamed, and surged forward to kiss him, letting go of his hand to rest her palm over his heart. When she pulled back, his eyes were shining.

“You can still read them now, if you’d like,” he said after a quiet moment, nodding down to the discarded notebook on the concrete floor. “I’m not quite finished, but you can. They’re yours, after all.”

Jemma stroked her thumb against the fabric of his shirt before pulling away. She collected the torn sheets of blank paper and stood up, smiling down at him. “I want the first time I hear them to be on our wedding day. And besides--” She waved the papers in her hand. “I’ve got work to do.”

The next day wasn’t perfect. Neither of them had gotten any sleep, and the cold, deserted bunker didn’t make for the most romantic setting, even after the others did their best to spruce the place up. The ceremony wasn’t legal, and they still hadn’t showered.

But when he read his words to her, and she read hers to him, none of that made a difference.

He was hers, and she was his, and those words were the only ones that mattered.

**Author's Note:**

> Want to hang out on tumblr? I'm unbreakablejemmasimmons over there!


End file.
